Page 32 of Burdens
“Youshouldn’tbe here,” I snapped before I could stop myself. “It’s way beyond curfew. You’re supposed to be in your quarters.”
She shrugged and pressed a fist to the bag. “I was never really one to follow rules.”
“I can tell,” I murmured under my breath.
She ignored me and gave the heavy bag a few testing jabs before shifting her weight and picking up her pace. How she even had the energy to do this after the day I’d put them through was beyond me.
Amalia’s heavy breathing slowly filled the quiet room and before I could stop myself, my gaze wandered over her body. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a simple black workout set, but anything on her could never bejustsimple.
Her shorts did nothing to hide the delicious curvature of her ass, one I hadn’t gotten to see that night, and her top gave me a glimpse of her luscious breasts that I would give anything to play with one more time.
My eyes fixated on a droplet of sweat that trailed from her neck and down to her cleavage, disappearing underneath her bra. All I could think of right at this moment was what her skin would taste like.
I wouldn’t put it past myself to get on my knees and beg for it because I still dreamed about her taste every night, despite trying my hardest not to. But could you really blame me when she looked and tasted as divine as she did?
Something about her always seemed to capture all my senses and held me hostage. I still couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but I knew it was past simple physical attraction. Becauseit wasn’t just that. It felt like something bigger pulling me to her like she was an orbit and I simply couldn’t help but gravitate toward it.
“Are you going to keep staring at me or…?” she asked without looking at me, landing a jab against the bag.
Shit.
I snapped back to reality and chastised myself. I heard her chuckle as I snatched my gaze away. Embarrassment burned my skin and I reached inside my bag to grab my shirt that I’d taken off earlier. I slipped it over my head and grasped my bag, moving to leave, when an irritated groan came from her.
I raised my gaze to find her smacking a palm against the leather in frustration before she shook it off and got into position again. She started whatever sequence she was doing before again, only for me to quickly realize she was going through one of the more complex combinations I taught in class a few days ago.
She was executing it perfectly, until she got to the trickiest part and missed. She stabilized the bag with both of her hands and did it again, only to slip again at the same place.
I should leave,I tried telling myself as I watched her do it over and over again, her irritation growing every time she failed to complete the pattern.
I cursed myself and stalked over to her. I stopped a few steps behind her to avoid getting hit and without overthinking it, I pressed one hand on her back, the other to her stomach.
She immediately tensed under my fingertips, stopping mid-strike. She stabilized the bag before whirling around. Her fist was aiming for my face, but I grabbed it just in time to stop it from colliding with my nose. Then I lowered it and let it go just as quickly.
“What are you doing?” Amalia asked bitterly, glaring at me.
“You’re doing it wrong, so I’m helping you,” I countered.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” she fired back.
“But you need it,” I replied, confused at her animosity. I moved toward her again, but she stepped back, her back colliding with the bag behind her.
“I don’tneedyou.”
I wanted to laugh at how absurd her aversion to my help was. Of course she didn’tneedme. She was great, better than most people I’d ever encountered while doing this job. But she needed to be corrected if she wanted to do the combo perfectly.
That’s all I was trying to do.
Frustration chafed beneath my skin. “God, you’re so stubborn. Why do you always refuse to be helped?” I asked. Why couldn’t she just let me give her advice when she clearly could use it. She did the same in class.
She clucked her tongue. “Ah, right,” she drawled. “Because trying to help me is taunting me andyellingat me more than you do anyone else in the class since I got here. Helping me is making everyone underestimate me from how many times you correct me in front of everyone for the tiniest mistakes I make.”
Taken aback, I frowned. “I don’t yell at you,” I started, but she crossed her arms over her chest, giving me a “you’re kidding right?” look. I ignored her and continued, “I simply correct you because even the tiniest mistake, as you so call it, could end in you being hurt.” I didn’t know when or how my voice had grown louder, but the echoes of my last few words boomed around us.
I thought she knew I was harder on her because I saw the tremendous potential she had and I’d rather focus my attention on her than waste my time on people who didn’t care about this as much as she seemed to.
I took a deep breath in, reined in my exasperation, and looked at her. I held her eyes, unrelenting. “Just let me help you,please.”
She waited a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Fine,” she grunted out as she faced the heavy bag again.
